


Fumbling Around

by ThePaintedScorpionDoll



Series: Scenes from a War-Forged Courtship [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Aeron Tabris, Aeron/Alistair, F/M, Tabristair - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 03:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9799805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePaintedScorpionDoll/pseuds/ThePaintedScorpionDoll
Summary: Alistair and Aeron discuss their relationship like responsible adults. Or, at least, they try and probably succeed. (It's certainly one way to pass the time on night watch.)





	

“You don’t think we were over too fast, do you? The first time?”

It is the middle of the night when Alistair finally finds the courage to ask this question. He is having his shift of night watch alongside Aeron, who presently sits nearer to the fire while cleaning her sword—or at least she was, until he finished asking his question. Everyone else is fast asleep (or so he hopes; he has not ruled out the possibility that Zevran or Morrigan—or, Maker forbid, _both of them_ —is up and eagerly eavesdropping). Aeron looks up at him. Slim pieces of her white hair hang loose around her face; the result of pulling it back in a much looser braid than she normally does.

There is…an expression on her face. It is hard for Alistair to tell what kind it is. Confusion? But the tips of her long ears aren’t cocked at any particular angle… (Or is it that her ears only move when she feels strong emotions? He thinks of asking her, all the time, about the language hidden in elf ears; he hasn’t because he figures it might be rude.) Maybe she simply didn’t hear him, either partially or at all. Maybe it’s for the best—

“What?”

“I was just thinking—” Alistair halts. He has been thinking about this for at least two weeks. “I was thinking about…our first night together.”

Her expression becomes easier to read as a grin pulls slowly at her lips. “Have you now?”

“I have—” He clears his throat. “—but it’s because—I mean—I was just _thinking_ , Aeron; you don't suppose our first time was a bit… _rushed_ , do you?”

The grin fades into an expression of concern. She begins to put her sword and supplies away. “How do you mean, Alistair?”

“I mean…” He lets out a small huff. He had this all planned out in his head—all of it, every word down to the last, clear, reasonable detail—and now that the topic is out in the open, the plan is _gone_! “Don’t get me wrong, my love, I enjoyed myself— _greatly_! I did—”

“I should hope so, else I’d have to question what your fingers’ve been doing down the inside of my smalls. Not that I’ve been any better about keeping to myself…” Aeron starts to laugh, only stalling into silence when he doesn’t join her (even if it _is_ true about where their hands have been). She rises to her feet. “This traveling we’ve been doing hasn’t left us much time for more than a quick bit of fumbling in the dark, which is…frustrating, to be sure—”

And of this, Alistair is _very_ sure.

“—but I don’t regret that night in camp. I truly don’t.”

“And I don’t, either,” he tells her, “but still, I just—I keep thinking. Was it over too soon? Did we not take the time we could have to really…? Did I take it for granted, somehow—?”

“Alistair.” Aeron straddles the log on which he sits. “Are you still bothered by what Zevran said to you? About—?”

“No! No. No, no, no. Of course not, Aeron. Not by—I mean, it’s bothersome that he’s spending more time eavesdropping instead of, you know, doing something useful like standing guard or—or something equally useful…”

But the comments linger in Alistair’s mind like smoke; Zevran’s laughter sounds less mocking in his recollection than Morrigan’s, but it was laughter at his expense all the same, wasn’t it? Even Leliana got in a giggle. Wynne just shook her head and pretended not to hear. Sten, by some mercy, also remained silent. And Aeron? She heard the questioning and the jokes, surely, but instead of joining in—

Aeron nudges him gently with a kiss to his cheek. “He only says those things to mess with you. I’m pretty sure he’s driven by envy.”

Alistair scoffs. “So I should be amused, then?”

“Not necessarily. I just—”

“No, I know. I do. I just—that’s not—” Alistair’s feels the back of his neck grow tense with frustration as his thoughts become harder to verbalize. Each breath sends the tension further—to his shoulders, down his back, his arms… He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what—where I was going with this—”

“Alistair, relax. It’s just me here. Take your time.” Aeron runs a hand over his back. “We have nearly all night.”

“That we do, don’t we?” It takes all that Alistair has not to tilt sideways and rest against her chest. (She would let him, though, wouldn’t she? Of course, she would.) “I’m only _saying_ , Aeron, that…that _next time_ —maybe the next time we're at an inn and have a room to ourselves—that I would like to take my time. I want _us_ to take our time with each other.”

He looks at her, trying to banish his frustration with a thin smile that does not come easily.

“Is that a lot? It is, isn’t it? It’s greedy—”

But Aeron only cradles his face and kisses him, her gentle laughter vibrating against his lips. “Alistair, I promise you, it isn’t greedy.”

“You’re sure?”

Her laughter doesn’t make him feel stupid for asking, but Alistair likes that she apologizes anyway. He likes the way Aeron lets her hands rest within his after he reaches up to take them. He likes that she is willing to sit beside him in silence while he thinks of how to say what he wants to say next—no pressure, no pressing, just…silence and gentle patience. Alistair appreciates that. He loves it, really; that she is willing to give him that much without being asked.

“I know that you’re…” No. That’s not it. Alistair tries again. “I know that I am…wanted. You’ve made that very clear. I just… I want to learn your body, Aeron. No more of just this…blind fumbling around until I’ve gotten it right by accident; I want to know how to touch you. _Properly._ I want time for that. For us.”

There it is. The entire matter out and said, albeit not quite the way he planned it. Aeron’s expression is…still hard to read. What could she be thinking? Will he ever learn how to tell? Alistair hopes so, however long it takes him.

“Okay. The next chance we get to stay at an inn or a tavern,” Aeron tells him, “I am yours to study.”

The next breath out of Alistair’s lungs comes easily. The tension starts to unravel. “Good.” He smiles and it comes naturally. “Thank you.”

“Of course, my love. But, um…Alistair, this doesn’t mean we’ve got to stop all the fumbling around, does it? _Because_ , unless I am mistaken, I am fairly certain I have _almost_ figured out the proper stroke technique—”

Alistair chokes on a punch of laughter. _“Maker—!”_

“—and I just wanted to be sure that I could still test it out.” Aeron smiles at him, teeth bared and eyes aglow with the firelight—a cat cornering her favorite pigeon. “So?”

Andraste preserve him, but he is such a lucky man. Zevran can choke on his envy.

“Soon as our shift is over,” Alistair promises ahead of a kiss, “I am all yours to study.”


End file.
